Sacrifice

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  It’s said she’s responsible for the lunacy that lives in him. The one that spawned those rumors of his atrocious crimes. The mortals even incorporated it into their mythology of him.

  In their stories, I was a princess. Later, his wife. I bore him two children.

  And thanks to Hera, he slaughtered us all before heading off on his quest for redemption and earning his godhood.

  He might’ve well have. The end result was still the same. Me, in Hades, childless and destroyed because of him and his relatives.

  Yet, he was desperate to join that family anyway, wasn’t he? The one he gleefully turned his back on me for.

  I don’t owe him shit. “It’s your name.”

  He groans in exasperation, his eyes, returned to their normal shade, staring beseechingly at the sky. “I changed it, okay? All my paperwork, the deed to my penthouse, business holdings, all of it says Kles. I can’t stand to hear the other version and you know why.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Shouldn’t be saying any version of his name anyway, I remind myself. “As I was saying before. We’re literally less than a thousand feet from where he is.” I point at one of the most famous partying spots in the entire world, what looks like a two-story, palm tree framed nightclub, with more lights flashing out of it than the entirety of Las Vegas combined.

  Herakles—Kles—spins to study the location. When he faces me again, I’ve changed out of my armor and into clothing more suitable for blending in at that place.

  His incredulous stare drops down the length of my body and I can’t tell how much of what I’m seeing is anger or desire.

  I’m lying. It’s a mixture of both, the perfect combination to further inflame the desires of the Nymph in me. What the hell am I thinking wearing this? Okay, it’s what I’d typically wear in the environment we’re heading into, especially while on the hunt for a sexual partner, but not with this male in my vicinity.

  Not with that intent gaze, burning strong with an angry and hungry intent, fixated on the tiny, olive green two piece outfit hugging every one of my curves.

  You fucking idiot. Change. Change no—

  Kles’ throat bobs with a heavy swallow and he glances over his shoulder again toward the club. “It—it doesn’t matter if we’re close to the target. He already knows we’re coming, remember?” His eyes narrow once more, flickering back and forth. I can practically see his wheels turning as he sucks whatever information he’s picking up out of thin air. “He’s prepared for us . . . gods damn it, that place is inundated with humans.”

  “Why would he be waiting for us in a den of mortals, anyway? He can’t honestly believe that’s going to stop me from gutting hi—”

  His large, warm hand wraps around my jaw, thumb pressed to my lips, silencing me.

  I blink, heart fluttering, mind churning.

  Taste buds alive with the hints of his taste leaking through the slight part of my lips.

  My chest pounds with heavy breaths beneath this tight, bandage belly top.

  Kles presses his thumb into my lips harder, as if savoring the feel of them with that rough move, and looks back at me.

  No. Not as if. He wants you. Your mouth. Every inch of you.

  The smart thing to do is rip away from his touch. Run. Run faster than I ever have before.

  Or slay him on the spot.

  But . . . but . . .

  Dark gray, form-fitting button down that hugs that flat, washboard waist straight into those black slacks. Leather belt around those lean hips.

  That blonde and ginger hair slicked in perfect waves. The loop through his right ear. The reddish, bronze stubble that’s begun growing in along his jaw.

  I’m not the only one that’s changed to “blend in” with the humans.

  That bastard.

  “He’s sequestered below the club. Lower levels. About five floor beneath, from what I can sense,” Kles mumbles distractedly, thumb rubbing back and forth along my mouth.

  Common sense. Common sense. The confused, mindless, starving female I’m becoming is in desperate need of some fucking common sense.

  He tugs me using the hold on my chin, thumb pressing in hard enough to smash my lips along my teeth, and my silver stilettos sink into the grass as I stumble closer. “He benefits from the human drug trade in that place, but he’s actually there on behalf of other immortals.” Our chests brush, breaths panting.

  It takes the image of me wrapping a leg around him and humping his thigh to finally get me away from him. Are you fucking retarded, girl? Did you forget how this entire thing ended last time you gave in and tasted that? “How do you know all this?” I clear my throat, infuriated by how out of breath I sound. “Is Hades feeding you info?”

  His voice drops to a roughened rasp. “Not him. No.”

  His powers, then. They’re feeding him information just as mine are hyperfocused on shredding every stitch of clothing off his sculpted body.

  “So we go straight in. That’s it?”

  “Only option. There’s no other direct way in. He’s waiting for us and I have a feeling we’ll have no issues getting in.”

  I can feel this fucker’s stare on my ass.

  Throwing my head back, high pony tail swinging, I hurry in the direction of Prism. Not to tempt him to chase me—although every part of me that makes me a Succubus already knows he will—but to get this freaking over with.

  The faster we handle each of those reincarnated freaks, the sooner I can get rid of him. It isn’t long before the dirt road gives way to the concrete street in front of two different hotels, each with their own outdoor pools.

  His heavy steps echo each click of my heels. He lets me keep my distance as take a left turn at the corner.

  Maybe he’s allowing me the chance to calm down.

  Impossible. Not with his gaze hot and heavy on my ass with each step.

  Another right turn when we get to the next corner and the neon-lit, palm-tree framed entrance of the club comes into full view. Human males turn in an almost synchronized fashion at my approach, their brutish instincts honing in on me like their weak biology demands.

  The easiest of prey to my kind.

  Sadly, the least appetizing too. The sustenance they have to offer never lasts long.

  Neither do they. I’ve had one too many human men instantaneously combust from my so much as running a finger along their dicks. Considering they don’t have the bounce back time of an immortal male—notorious for their ability to keep fucking and fucking despite how many times they come—that’s a serious problem.

  One human releases a high-pierced whistle. Hand to his chest, he falls to his knees as I pass by, begging me to marry him in Spanish.

  That’s when Kles catches up to me in just a few, well-paced strides. I tense, expecting him to grab my hand for some reason—or maybe my senses pick up on his intention to—but thankfully he doesn’t. He just walks close enough to me, that deadly, powerful scowl aimed at the Spaniard still yelling marriage proposals at me, and that’s more than enough to deter anyone from approaching me.

  “You can rot in hell,” I mumble to him, eyeing the insane line and the white gate leading underneath the neon sign that reads:

  F*** ME.

  I’M FABULOUS!

  “Already there, Meg,” Kles shoots back.

  We’re spotted by security almost immediately and the largest man with the ear piece waves us over.

  Kles wasn’t kidding. Definitely expecting us.

  The treatment makes the humans curious. Many of them stare at Kles and I, wondering who we are that we’re being ushered straight it. The way the human men stare after me is forgotten in an instant as I see more than one woman spinning, necks twisting possession-style, to take in the behemoth walking next to me.

  If only these humans knew who he is. That the legendary “Hercules” is real and walking among them.

  Fuck no. The level of interest would be even worse.

  We pass by a group of scantly-clad women dressed
in carnival-like costumes. One of them goes as far as to yank her already too low top down and a glimpse of the top of her nipples is now on display for the whole world to see.

  But she doesn’t care about the world. Calling out in what must be her native Portuguese, she waves at Kles.

  My hands curl, nails digging into my palms.

  That little . . .

  By force of will, I uncurl my fists and ignore her existence, before she’s nothing but ripped meat at my feet. I’m grateful I found the strength to do so, to stay the course, instead of causing a catastrophe in the mortal world.

  And no. It has nothing to do with the fact that Kles didn’t glance her way not even once.

  Although, a mortal catastrophe might be unavoidable, considering where we’re being lead into. The inside of the club is one giant open space, one of the most famous views in the entire human world. Ahead of us, beneath the strobe lights, and surrounded by thousands of humans, a DJ leads the ruckus from his spot on the stage.

  That’s one of the best-selling, hottest DJs today, if I’m not mistaken.

  Not that it matters. He, too, will be dead soon, depending on whether Hydra plans to battle us here and now.

  Of course he does. Cyclops was just a messenger.

  And the one meant to test that dark energy on us.

  But Hydra? He was Kles’ second task. His death was gruesome. Historical.

  Only parts of that story were true, main ones among them? The cutting and cauterizing of the mortal heads . . . and the immortal head being cut off and buried under a rock, left to rot until that creature’s soul finally left its mind.

  I’d heard rumors that it took centuries.

  Hundreds of years as just a head, buried in the dirt . . .

  Yeah. If any of these creatures is going to have it out for Kles, Hydra is it.

  The bouncer takes us straight to the higher level of the club—the less crowded VIP lounge. Waving at the bar, he indicates that we are to wait there.

  For an attack?

  Even Kles is doubtful. His expression says it all.

  Nevertheless, we do as we’re told—for now—and head to take two empty seats at the bar. The human attention is just as bad up here, a fact I can see grating on my companion.

  “You’d think they’ve never been around a gorgeous Succubus before,” he growls under his breath, positioning himself to block the view of my body as I sit on one of the lit-blue stools.

  “They probably haven’t, idiot,” I throw back under my breath, annoyed at the fact that he knows what I am.

  What I’ve become.

  The assumption that’s birthed next doesn’t help matters, either.

  Either Hades told him what I am . . . no. Kles realized it in his penthouse, as soon as he had me pinned to that wall. I remember how his body reacted to the first hit of my pheromones. The shock in his gaze.

  The horny awe.

  This bastard knew right away what I am because he’s no doubt been around my kind before.

  Thousands of years living, free to roam wherever he chose?

  He’s probably been around many, many nymphs in his day.

  Has probably had them all once. Obviously, not more than that, or he would’ve ended up addicted to the death of whoever it was, but his resistance to my pull is proof of biological resistance.

  He’s been “inoculated” and while not immune, possess the strength to not cave as quickly as other immortals would’ve by now.

  Not that I fucking want him to cave, I remind my stupid body.

  “Looking kind of murderous there, Nymph.” He sits in the stool next to me and proceeds to order us two of the same—whiskey and coke on ice.

  To my horror, heat rushes from the pit of my being, up my neck, toward my face. It’s either a blush, or a flush caused by my hormones, but either way this is freaking unacceptable. I cannot possibly be flustered by this fool. Been there, done that, have the scars to prove it. I refuse to entertain the idea that I’m still this susceptible to his own allure.

  Then again, look at that scrumptious bastard. What living, breathing female wouldn’t be? Heck, I’ll be a few dead souls are, too.

  I grab the drink as soon as its deposited in front of me and take it down in one shot, hoping the coolness will actually do something to control this heat. Crossing my legs tightly, I fight to ignore the pounding in my core and focus on what really matters. “These humans are all in danger if Hydra chooses to do battle here.”

  Kles’ heavy gaze falls to the expanse of thigh left bared by the criss-cross string tie one the sides of my skirt, then drops lower. “He’s going to choose to do battle,” he mumbles to my thigh.

  Even he’s aware of how strong Hydra’s animosity must be toward him.

  And that’s not counting Hydra sick devotion the Hera, who made it her life mission to detest Zeus’ bastard offspring.

  Most detested of all? The male next to me, the first one born after Zeus had sworn to finally be faithful. He lied to his wife, of course, yet she’d believed him. Utterly. Stupidly. Then came along Herakles, proof that the God of Thunder, would never change his ways.

  “Eyes up here.” I snap my fingers to get his attention where it belongs. “I personally don’t give a fuck about the humans here—”

  He raises an eyebrow over the rim of his nearly empty glass. “Quite callous there, ay Meg?”

  “What the fuck have they ever done for me?” Both as a human and an immortal. Seriously, fuck these self-centered, short-sighted parasites. “But the rules are the rules. Hades wants the Eight eradicated for breaking those very rules. We don’t bring human attention to our world.”

  He holds a finger up, pretending to analyze the gleaming white bar top, but I know what he’s up to. How he’s honing those whispers he hears, the ones that feed him intel, and trying to pick up something useful. “Drugs. Definitely drugs. The money is being funneled toward something, don’t know what yet or who it benefits, but it’s definitely another immortal. Someone with more power than him. So you’re right. Him starting a fight that could not only lead to witnesses, but human casualties, goes against his main interests.”

  “Except, that, killing you just might be more important than the repercussions of causing said incident.” Wonder if he can tell how much I sympathize with Hydra’s feelings.

  That scowl tells me he does.

  Placing his glass on the bar gently, he spins toward me, knee bumping into my own, and swear to the gods my body reacts as if he just thrust his cock into me instead. Just as I’m about to launch myself into another dimension to escape that analyzing stare and how it takes in my goosebumps, another male approaches from behind him.

  Male, not man.

  This one’s an immortal dressed to resemble another human bouncer.

  A werewolf. I’ve come across their kind on other missions.

  Kles has already turned toward him, having sensed his approach, and both makes eye each other as immortals do.

  Assessing the threat.

  “You are awaited,” the tanned skin male says.

  Kles and I hum. That part we already know. Do we really want to walk into a possible death trap? That’s the real question.

  “He’s willing to endanger the very beings he profits off of to protect himself?” Kles tsks under his breath, searching the sea of bodies below for other immortals I’ll bet. “Why not just run?”

  In turn, the werewolf studies him from behind his dark sunglasses, his brown eyes visible to ones such as us. “You assume he is going to do such a thing.”

  “Maybe he plans to try and eliminate us before we even get close.”

  The werewolf shakes his head. “He wants to speak with you, especially.”

  “That means he wants to gut you on sight,” I tell Kles casually.

  He throws me that boyish smile I never quite forgot. “Indeed.”

  I rip my gaze away from that marked yet perfect face.

  “Shall we proceed then?” The bouncer st
eps aside to make room for us to stand.

  Which we do.

  We’re probably walking into a trap.

  That’s fine.

  Kles is the God of Power.

  I’m an Erinye, a breed no one ever escapes once Hades calls us to destroy a target.

  Hydra might be planning to bulldoze the god next to me. On a normal day, I’d let him. Sadly for him, today Kles and I are a team. United.

  Whatever that ex-snake has planned for us is a simple matter of survival.

  Ours, not his.

  Kles motions for me to go ahead of him and I do, the three of us heading down the stairs back into the mayhem of pounding music, whirling bodies, glitter, makeup, and sheer primal instinct.

  CHAPTER 11

  HERAKLES

  He’s one of many hidden in the crowd.

  Ten werewolves.

  Twenty vampires.

  Others . . .

  The knowledge continues to leak through in endless waves. I filter the details while following Meg and that werewolf down a private hallway.

  Thankfully, my powers can continue to function without my full attention. If not we’d be fucked. Yet who could blame me? That Nymph is sashaying ahead of me in tiny green cloth and silver heels, wavy auburn held in a ponytail that swings along her back.

  That bloody skirt . . .

  Calling it such is an affront to actual skirts everywhere. It’s two pieces of fabric held together by the strings criss crossing each side. Nothing more. A wrong move, a single tear of one of those strings, and she’ll be bared for everyone to see.

  There’s no way she’s wearing panties under there.

  A distraction I don’t need at this point.

  Or any to be honest.

  God of Power I may be, but even I’m not that skilled as to ignore this female’s magnetism.

  The werewolf didn’t. Maybe she didn’t notice it, although that’s highly unlikely, and he did a good job of hiding it for the most part, but anyone within a mile of her is being affected by that scent.

  The same scent that’s getting stronger and stronger. Almost like a Succubus that hasn’t gotten fed.

  Fucking bullshit. She got what she needed hours ago. Whatever the reason why her pheromones are growing more powerful, they’re a hell of a concoction. Perhaps the worst ever created by nature.